


It's Where my Demons Hide

by RefugeeofTumblr



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RefugeeofTumblr/pseuds/RefugeeofTumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nightmares come in the dead of night / and if one isn't careful / they'll smother hope's fragile light</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Where my Demons Hide

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [It's Where my Demons Hide 中文翻译](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3671043) by [estelzxr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelzxr/pseuds/estelzxr)



He shudders weakly, legs collapsing beneath him, depositing him on the floor of the TARDIS. Hot wet tears trail down the Doctor’s cheeks, blurring the room and turning it into a fuzzy mess. Nothing seems solid anymore. The universe has been ripped away down to the foundations, leaving only bare pylons of knowledge behind. Cradling his aching head in his hands, the Doctor groans pitifully.

Images flash before his eyes. A fission of fear-horror-grief-pain runs down his spine, hot and cool by turns, as he recalls vividly - so, so vividly - the failures. The times when he wasn’t clever or fast or brave enough.

_Rose, falling into the Void. Reaching out, reaching even though he would never be able to touch her again._

_Fire all around him, broken ruins and rubble as sontarans march in their legions. Stomping feet and guns discharging their deadly payloads onto the backs of fleeing civilians -_

"No!" He chokes, bright green eyes squeezing shut, dislodging the tears that had collected there. "No, Rose, Amy…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you!" The cry trails off, quiet sobs torn one by one from his throat.

He has no idea how long he crouches there, collapsed against the wall, vivid images from the blackest depths of his nightmares crawling out to torment him. He doesn’t even notice that someone else has entered the room until a gentle hand wipes away the tears and strong, cool arms pull him into a hug. As the Doctor presses his nose against the pinstriped flannel the comforting smell of cinnamon and ginger surrounds him.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. Easy. It’s okay now, you’re gonna be okay." Words whispered in Gallifreyan, words that rose and fell, a complex song all their own. A bitter laugh rises from the Doctor’s throat. He should be comforting his younger self, not the other way around.

When he tries to pull back a little he’s surprised to meet gentle resistance. The other man’s eyes, warm and brown, meet his own. They hold a quiet rebuke: you need this. Let me help you.

Some days, the Doctor would have found the strength to refuse.

Some days, he would have some idea of how to keep the other man at their customary arms-length.

Not today. Grim-faced, the Doctor looks into his younger self’s eyes and nods. Whatever happens now happens. They won’t deny it, reset it or try to pretend that it never came to pass. For a moment, the Doctor expects his younger self to close the final gap between them. Unconsciously he braces himself for the touch of soft lips against his own.

Instead those strong, cool arms pull him close again, and he relaxes with a shaky, ragged breath, accepting the comfort.


End file.
